


Dance of Passes

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Character Death, Blood and Violence, M/M, Minotaur McCree, Scion Hanzo, Size Difference, Teratophilia, bodyguard McCree, intercrural, references to Spanish bullfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: While visiting an underground "bull" fighting ring in Spain, Hanzo purchases an unlikely asset. Little does he know that this "bull", actually a Minotaur, would more than prove himself...in many ways.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 11
Kudos: 165





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes for those that are curious (TW for references to animal cruelty and death). The terms here are used to describe aspects of Spanish bullfighting. _Banderillos_ and _matadors_ are often used to describe "bullfighters" as a whole, but _banderillos_ wield _banderillas_ , are sharpened sticks, which they use to stab into the bull as it runs past. Fascinatingly enough, there is much more to a bullfight than just waving the cape at a bull. There is an art (however grisly it is) and there are three "stages" of the fight. 
> 
> Depending on how the bull fought, there is an option for the bull to be pardoned though it is rather uncommon. As a trophy for killing the bull, the ears and tail are often chopped off and given to the _matador_.
> 
> The title refers to the action of _faena_ , which is where the _matador_ entices the bull to charge. It's called a dance of passes, as the action is to create art with man and bull, where the matador is encouraged to bring the bull as close to their body as possible.

The crowd roared, some crying out in dismay, some in exultation.

The bull got to his hooves and roared back in triumph, in rage; his opponent, the _matador_ , lay in a bloody, lifeless heap on the sands. Though the bull was peppered with wounds, his coat and skin dark with sweat and blood, battle fever seemed to have taken him and he paced as if he didn’t notice them.

“Does the bull get to live?” Hanzo asked the official, though he had to lean annoyingly close to be heard over the crowd. He was here as a part of a business venture; the official had invited him to see what kind of underground fights that he ran.

The official laughed. “Rarely,” he said, a hint of British in his English. “But this one is so violent! I wonder how many matadors he will go through!”

Hanzo hummed idly. “What happens if the bull was pardoned?”

“Not this one,” the official said with a derisive snort. “Normally we would contact their farm and if the farmer agrees, he’ll take it back as a breeder. But we…acquired this bull just for this fight—he will die in the ring.” Kidnapping, then. “And this is not _corrida de toros_. This is so much better.”

The bull paced. Even this far, Hanzo could see his eyes were full of hate; they were trained on the official. So, he was intelligent enough to know that the official decided his fate—was the very person that had put him in the ring.

“Then I will buy him,” Hanzo said. The other _matador_ s were gathered near the ring, looking up at the official for his judgment. Around them, the crowd chanted. Some called for another fight; others, Hanzo was surprised to hear, called for mercy.

The ones calling for more death were much louder.

Surprised, the official turned to look at him. “That goes against tradition,” he hedged.

“Is this very fight not against tradition?” Hanzo asked. “I will take him; you need not be paid in the matter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the official debate. It was supremely rude of him to make such demands as a guest, but he knew that though the official was a hardened veteran and as corrupt as they come, he still feared Hanzo.

The official subsided and named a price. The wretched creature, bloodied and missing the tip of one horn, wasn’t worth even a quarter of it but Hanzo waved to show that he accepted. He watched the official lick his lips nervously, apparently surprised that Hanzo had accepted it so quickly.

Good.

Let him be unbalanced.

The other _matadors_ were waiting for the signal; the roar of the crowd grew louder. In the ring, the bull watched them.

When the official stood, ragged silence very slowly fell. In Spanish, the official made the announcement that the bull was to be pardoned. Hanzo’s translator, provided as a “gift” of the official, leaned closer. Hanzo didn’t bother to correct her rendition of what the official told the booing crowd.

You can only tell someone that you understand their words once, after all—and Hanzo was looking forward to watching the horror bloom on the official’s face when he realized that Hanzo had understood every licentious, slanderous thing he had said of Hanzo in a language that he thought that Hanzo couldn’t speak.

Hanzo watched the bull’s face, saw his ears twitch. Then he saw the bull turn his hateful glare to Hanzo and spit a glob of blood to the sand.

“You may continue the fight in my absence,” Hanzo told the official smoothly as he got to his feet and signaled to his guards. “I must deal with this…new acquisition.”

“Of course,” the official said awkwardly. “Do you need—?”

“No assistance is necessary,” Hanzo said over his shoulder as his bodyguards surrounded him. “He is mine to deal with. Thank you for the evening; I assume that we shall meet again tomorrow afternoon?” he left before the official could answer.

* * *

The crowd jeered as he walked to the ring.

A few made crude suggestions of what he would be doing with the bull. Despite the insult, he was impressed by their creativity.

There was silence—even by the other matadors—when Hanzo opened the gate and walked into the sands of the ring. Even the bull seemed appalled.

He was aware that the “animal handlers” brought weapons and cuffs for the bull, tried to push past his guards, but were rebuffed. Hanzo walked toward the bull, who he was delighted to see towered over him.

Up close he reeked of sweat, blood, of unwashed animal, but Hanzo thought that he would clean up nicely. The destruction of the tip of his left horn from the lucky strike of the matador’s _estocada_ didn’t seem too devastating and gave him a kind of grizzled appearance that Hanzo appreciated.

Still, he had potential. Despite the _banderillas_ still hanging from the muscles of his chest and back, he still looked ready and able to kill again. Cleaned and healed up, Hanzo was certain that he’d be a force of nature.

He stopped in front of the bull and nodded at the dead _matador_. “Collect your prize,” he said shortly in English and was relieved to see that the bull seemed to understand. “And then we shall leave. I want to have someone look at those wounds.”

The bull seemed even more surprised, though it was hard to tell on his bovine face. He snorted, spraying a fine mist of blood. “A bull receives no prizes,” he growled, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest.

“You are the victor, are you not?” Hanzo asked mildly. “And the winner’s prize is the ear of the loser. Now collect what is yours and we shall go.”

A slow, terrible smile spread across the bull’s mouth. “Shall I just rip it off?”

“If you want.” Hanzo handed the bull his _wakizashi_ hilt-first, much to the roared surprise of the crowd. “Or you may use this.”

The bull snorted, wrapping one of his enormous hands around the scabbard. “You are Shimada,” he said when he saw the dragons swirling around the _tsuba_. “What does a Shimada need with me? A sex slave like himself says?” he jerked his head up at the official.

“I need a fighter,” Hanzo said. “And a guard. You fought multiple opponents whose only job was to tire you and kill you for sport. I will have you.”

“I am no pet to be kept,” the bull warned but he clumsily drew the _wakizashi_. He eyed the razor-sharp blade, considered the characters stamped into the base, the ripple of good steel in the ugly golden lights of the ring. “But I don’t have a choice.”

Hanzo inclined his head. “Collect your prize,” he repeated. “And then we will see your wounds treated.”

The crowd roared like thunder when the bull turned, bent to the dead _matador_ , and cut off his ear. Hanzo watched the bull lift it in the air, waving it at the other _matadors_ , the _banderillas_ , the official.

He always did have a soft spot for troublemakers.

* * *

Hanzo smiled. Even kneeling in front of the raised dais, McCree was tall enough that his eyes were level with Hanzo’s. His dark coat was darker, though Hanzo wasn’t sure if it was from the rain or blood.

He chose to believe it was the latter, though it was most likely the former.

McCree bowed deeply and rose when Hanzo ordered it. His eyes were dark, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to contain himself. “ _I have done as you asked,_ ” he said, a hint of an American twang in his Japanese.

Hanzo watched as the elders ground their teeth. He knew that McCree could speak Japanese with whatever accent Hanzo asked him to learn; speaking with an American accent now was just to annoy them.

Besides. Hanzo liked McCree’s American accent.

Especially when it lodged in his throat around shuddering breaths.

McCree lifted the silk-wrapped bundle that sat beside him. “ _I offer you the head of Shimada Michiko, who has been providing information on the movement of Shimada assets to Overwatch._ ” The silk flowed away, opened like a flower to reveal the head of Hanzo’s cousin.

She was missing an ear.

Hanzo smiled. “ _Thank you for your service in this most important task._ ”

He watched the bull bow again, the tips of his horns nearly brushing the dais. “ _It is always a pleasure to serve Shimada Hanzo._ ”

The elders’ teeth ground almost audibly and Hanzo struggled to hide his glee. There were others to deal with, so he could not adequately...reward his most trusted guard. He dismissed McCree, knowing that he would go to treat his wounds and prize, would likely clean himself off, and return to Hanzo’s side in time to escort him to his room.

McCree bowed again and Hanzo suppressed the smile at his saucy wink.

* * *

Hanzo gasped breathlessly. Both hands were held in one of McCree’s, held over his head.

“The _oyabun_ is very generous,” McCree rumbled, his nose cool against Hanzo’s feverish skin. “To reward me with such a pretty treat.”

He slid down lower, feeling his legs spread wide over McCree’s wide thighs. Hanzo was flexible after a lifetime of training, but he always felt like a novice when presented with McCree’s great size.

Hanzo’s hands twisted in McCree’s grip. If he really wanted to, he could probably free himself but there was something novel in being held down like this. He licked his lips. “A reward fitting for the—” he trailed off, looking down at the enormous, mottled pink and black shaft peeking out from between his legs.

He hadn’t initially intended on using McCree as a breeding stud or a bed-warmer, it had happened naturally. A few times, Hanzo had wondered if McCree climbed in bed with him because he feared what would happen if he turned his benefactor (and “owner”) down but each time Hanzo had to laugh. McCree did not think such things and never did anything that he didn’t agree to do.

This is far from the first time they’d fallen into bed together, but every time it felt new to see McCree’s bovine cock, as thick around as his arm and nearly as long, peeking out from between his legs. He’d never wanted to bottom until he’d seen such an insurmountable task.

“C’mere,” McCree said and lifted him by his arms. Knowing what was next, Hanzo wrapped his thighs around McCree’s cock and squeezed; the minotaur groaned deep in his chest. “Just like that.”

McCree once more showed off his great strength by lifting him up and down like that as if he weighed nothing, using Hanzo’s clenched thighs to pleasure himself. Hanzo had no complaints—McCree’s cock bumped against his, nudged at his balls, and provided just enough stimulation to keep him hard and aching.

“Fuck,” McCree said, his cock twitching between Hanzo’s clenched thighs. “Think I might love you.” Hanzo tugged at his wrists and McCree immediately let him go. He looked stricken as Hanzo climbed out of his lap and turned back around to face him. “Boss,” he said haltingly. “I—”

His voice broke in a gasp as Hanzo gripped his cock with both hands, his thumbs catching on the flared head of his glans. McCree’s legs kicked and Hanzo leveled him with a hard look. His eyes were wide and just as dark as they had been that first day that Hanzo had met him, his nostrils flaring as he took great, heaving gasps of air.

This time it was for entirely different reasons; this time, McCree looked at Hanzo as if he hung the moon and stars. It had been a confession borne of passion, but it had been honest nonetheless.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the wide tip of McCree’s cock, meeting the minotaur’s wide eyes. With one hand, he reached down to McCree’s dark testicles and hefted them in his palm. "Come for me," he ordered.

With a sound that was nearly a roar, McCree did just that, coming in hot, sticky streaks all over Hanzo’s face and chest. Hanzo used both hands to stroke McCree through his orgasm, tilting his head just enough away to avoid getting come in his eyes.

Hanzo continued to absently stroke McCree’s cock as it softened. His favored bodyguard leaned back in bad, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathed hard in the wake of orgasm. He knew from experience that he could convince McCree’s cock to harden again. Sometimes Hanzo would fuck McCree’s sheath, but he wasn’t quite in the mood for it right now.

He shuffled close and McCree squinted one eye at him. “Sorry boss,” he whispered, for once looking afraid.

Leaning close, Hanzo pressed a kiss against McCree’s furry cheek. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Now come, my guard. There are things that you must handle.”

McCree blinked at him and then a slow grin spread across his bovine face. “As my _oyabun_ demands,” he said and eased Hanzo back on the bed. Then he dropped his large head between Hanzo’s legs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally wasn't supposed to be a multi-chapter piece but here we are, I guess.

“I can offer you a job.”

It wasn’t the first time someone had said such to him. Usually they were beneath him as he killed them. Usually they were begging for their miserable little lives; this time, he wasn’t fighting and the man came up to him.

Bold of him—McCree was on duty, standing guard in the garden with Hanzo speaking with his brother while surrounded by their human and human-passing guards. He would normally be there, but Momo was with Hanzo, and the Elders were displeased that an American bull might be looming over Hanzo the way he usually did.

He pretended not to understand the furtive English words, spoken by one of the men that had come to meet with the leader of the Shimada Clan.

_“What is your name?”_ the man asked in passable Japanese, but McCree was on duty so he didn’t answer aside from a twitch from one of his ears.

Bless him, Hanzo seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to McCree because he glanced over and arched a regal brow. “Surely it should be considered utterly rude where you come from to speak more to the guard than the master?”

“ _Think about what I said_ ,” the man said in a low undertone as he straightened his clothes and walked to Hanzo. “ _You’re no beast to be ordered around like a dog._ ”

McCree watched a little jealously as Momo stood behind Hanzo, looming over him in a way that the Elders never scolded her for, and thought nothing more of the man’s words.

* * *

“His name is Reyes,” Hanzo told him later that night as McCree swept his room for bugs. “Leader of a black ops team that calls themselves Blackwatch.”

McCree snorted. “He tried to offer me a job.”

A long moment of strained silence. “He said as much,” Hanzo said tightly. He sighed. “What did you say?”

“I played the stupid bull,” McCree said, wondering about that strange note in Hanzo’s voice. He finished sweeping the room. “Done,” he said and sat down in the heavy chair beside the door. Normally Hanzo would climb into his lap at the first excuse; now he felt strangely cold to find Hanzo sitting on the bed, looking at him with a strange expression. “What is it?” he asked.

“Reyes wants you on his team,” Hanzo said. “And likely wants to squeeze you for more information of the inner workings of the Shimada Clan. We’ve been a thorn in their sides, but all _yakuza_ are… difficult to weed out.”

McCree nodded. “Community work,” he said.

“Community work,” Hanzo agreed, for once not even cracking a smile at their private joke. “The Shimada may do a lot of illegal work, but our legal ventures are such that our disappearance would cause… difficulty. There would be a void that could potentially lead to a power struggle.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, a _yakuza_ lord and a minotaur. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that you were not for sale,” Hanzo replied.

They lapsed into silence again. “Why…” McCree trailed off. “Is there something wrong, Shimada- _sama_?”

Slowly, like a hunting cat, Hanzo got to his feet and walked on silent feet to stand between McCree’s splayed legs. Gently, he cupped McCree’s snout. “Do you want to go with him?”

“Is this a test?” McCree asked gruffly. “I thought that we were beyond this.”

Hanzo’s strong fingers pressed into the thin fur of his snout. “Not a test,” Hanzo said, his voice tight. “I’m asking you what you _want_.”

“I will stay with you, of course,” McCree told him. His ears flicked back. “Unless… do you not want me here?”

The thought was almost too terrible to comprehend. Had Hanzo just been using him? Had he been lying with each whispered promise of love?

Hanzo’s face shifted slightly and he pressed his forehead to McCree’s snout. “More than anything,” he said quietly. “But sometimes I wonder if I’d robbed you of a life on your own.”

“If my life has been robbed, then it won’t matter if I’m the bodyguard of a _yakuza_ lord or some grunt in black ops,” McCree grumbled. “Here at least, I’d get you—and I’d get better care, most likely.”

“Perhaps that is true,” Hanzo agreed quietly and allowed McCree to gently tug him closer. “But the thought will not leave me. I want you to know that you are free to make your own choice, to choose your own life—even if it’s a life without me.” Hanzo sighed and ran his hand over McCree’s cheek with aching tenderness. “Come to bed,” he said at last. “It’s late.”

Leaning close, McCree brushed his nose against Hanzo’s temple and picked him up to carry him to bed.

* * *

“ _I know you can understand me_ ,” the man, Reyes, said in his passable Japanese. McCree ignored him, busy eating in the servants’ mess. Some of the other servants cut them surreptitious glances and averted their eyes when they saw McCree look at them.

“If you are supposed to be black ops,” McCree told him, giving himself a twangy Texas accent. “Then why are you attempting to speak a language in a crowded room where everyone can understand you? Doesn’t seem particularly wise to me.” He didn’t add that most of the servants also spoke English very well. The maids that cleaned Hanzo’s room—who were very familiar with McCree—smiled with their eyes, gave McCree a sympathetic look, and pretended that they weren’t listening intently.

“So you _do_ speak English,” Reyes said. “Why play dumb?”

“Maybe I was on duty and should be seen, not heard,” McCree told him. Unfortunately, Reyes had caught him at the beginning of his meal so he couldn’t leave without forfeiting his breakfast. He was a growing boy, as Hanzo liked to joke—he needed his meals.

Reyes watched him intently, like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse. “I need a guy like you on my team,” he said. “Bet I can offer better benefits than Shimada, here.”

“You realize what this looks like, right?” McCree asked, struggling to keep his voice level. “Fuck you.” He took a big bite of _tsukemono_ to keep from saying anything more.

Things would be more difficult moving forward, he knew. The Elders barely trusted him on a good day; most meetings had a portion devoted to questioning his loyalty and the disgrace of having a foreign Minotaur as a bodyguard. Now, the spies among the servants would report to the Elders and McCree would never hear the end of it—neither would Hanzo. This conversation alone was enough to potentially destabilize Hanzo’s authority.

McCree sighed inwardly and took a long drink of his miso soup. He was a simple bull; give him a good, bloody fight and he was thrilled. These political machinations were _exhausting_. How Hanzo could bear it was beyond him. But then, Hanzo seemed to thrive on it. They were complex puzzles to him, variables in an equation to solve.

He was such a nerd, even if most didn’t realize it.

“You’re off in your own corner,” Reyes noted. “With nobody to sit with you.”

The other shifters would sit with him, but he didn’t say that. _They_ knew what the world was like, that shifters and inhuman creatures like Minotaurs were kept as beasts or curiosities. Humans didn’t like to be associated with them—especially humans with dreams of power.

“And?” McCree asked brusquely. “I take up a lot of space.”

Reyes shrugged. “You said it yourself: you are meant to be seen, not heard. What does it say about a boss like that?”

“Most bodyguards are like that,” McCree replied. “You have a job offer; I turned it down. Goodbye.”

The man didn’t leave. “You think that he loves you,” he taunted. “But you’re just a toy to him. The Elders are talking about a marriage for him—to a good, human woman that they’ve vetted. What did you think would happen?”

Knowing that Reyes would try to goad him with talk of his relationship with Hanzo, he carefully didn’t show any reaction. “What makes you think any of this is done out of _love_?” he asked with a rude snort.

Still, the reminder stung.

“And what will happen when he has a proper wife?” Reyes asked. “Do you think he’d keep you around? You need to think of your future, kiddo—I can promise that.”

McCree snorted again, earning a few dirty looks from the other servants. “You’ve said your piece,” he said. “Now fuck off.”

Thinking that he had sowed enough seeds of discomfort, Reyes finally left. McCree sipped from his large bowl of tea. After this long, he’d grown almost fond of the over-brewed stuff that the kitchen staff seemed to enjoy giving him. The bitterness reminded him of the stuff that his _mamá_ used to drink and what was meant to be an insult was instead something comforting.

The bowl itself was an old ramen bowl, one that Hanzo’s little brother, an insufferable hellion named Genji, cracked while strung up on drugs and booze. It had been no longer suitable to serve to the head of the Shimada Clan, but just barely serviceable enough to serve an inhuman guard. The other inhuman guards got proper utensils; McCree, the foreigner, the _bull_ , was given something that would normally have been thrown out.

He sighed and finished his breakfast.

* * *

“He put an offer on you,” Hanzo told McCree later that night when he lay on McCree’s broad chest. He ran his fingers through the fluff of fur on McCree’s chest and throat, his fingers unerringly finding the thick knot of scar tissue from a too-tight collar once upon a time.

“He spoke to me during breakfast,” McCree said gruffly. “Said that you’d throw me aside as soon as you married.”

Hanzo sighed. “I will never _throw_ you away,” he said. “You are too… precious to me. But if you choose to leave, I will allow you to do so.”

“You sound like you’ve decided for me,” McCree rumbled.

“I can’t help it,” Hanzo said after a long silence. “I am not used to asking people for opinions.” He took a breath that was shakier than McCree had ever heard from him. “I… care deeply for you, Jesse. I only want the best for you and lately I have been wondering if this is the best place for you.”

McCree said nothing, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why he never seemed to have a say in his future.

* * *

Reyes was waiting to pour more poison in his ear the next morning.

At least, that’s what Hideki told him in the afternoon when McCree went to the servants’ mess for lunch. The ox shifter smiled a close-lipped smile, which made his bald head erupt in ridges of wrinkles. “ _We kindly asked him to leave_ ,” he said in Japanese.

“Kindly” to Hideki usually involved blood but, in this case, McCree doubted that Reyes had been truly hurt—he was Hanzo’s guest, after all. Still, something had made the ox smile like that, and McCree wondered what he had been allowed to hurt.

“He wants to buy you,” Hideki said in English. His pale eyes were wild, more fitting on a wild cat or a wolf than an ox.

McCree grunted. “I ain’t for sale,” he told the other guard.

“That doesn’t stop the rich from finding their toys.” With another deceptively-soft smile, Hideki stood up and left.

Unsettled, McCree sat down to his meal and tried not to think too much about what Hideki had said. More importantly, he tried not to be swayed by the idea that Reyes might be right—that he might need to start thinking about his future, and start taking his own fate into his own hands.

* * *

“They’re trying to push a wife for you, aren’t they?”

Hanzo made a frustrated sound as he undressed. “I’m just a pawn in their game,” he said. “To marry is to strengthen ties or bring power. They are all fighting over who is more ‘favorable’ than the other.”

Swallowing, McCree finished sweeping the room and returned to Hanzo’s side to hang up his coat and put his clothes in the hamper. “Do _you_ have a preference?”

“I have someone I’m considering,” Hanzo conceded. “She’s from a lesser family, but they’re familiar with inhuman creatures; she won’t have any issue with your presence here.”

McCree stiffened. “‘Inhuman creatures’?” he echoed.

Turning, Hanzo arched a brow at him. “Do you prefer ‘monster’?” he asked. He waved a hand. “Never mind. She will have no issue with your presence here and she is likely to understand that this will be a marriage for power, not love.” He walked toward the bathroom. “I am going to take a shower. Join me.”

Swallowing, McCree watched him leave, walking into the enormous bathroom suite. With Hanzo being the only one in there, the shower seemed enormous; with McCree, it was cramped. Not to mention, McCree’s hooves often slipped on the wet tile.

Ultimately, he knew that he’d follow Hanzo. He’d enjoy his time—he always did, with Hanzo—but the thought of Hanzo making plans around him made him strangely uncomfortable. As if it was inevitable that McCree would remain at Hanzo’s side, even if he encouraged McCree to leave.

He knew that he was just overthinking it; it was just Reyes getting to him. Still, he undressed and walked into the bathing room.

* * *

It was hard to stand aside and do nothing while Hanzo argued.

Worse was not being able to do anything about it. So he pretended to be one of those big Egyptian statues of the bull-headed god while Hanzo, the Elders, and the woman that was a candidate for Hanzo’s marriage spoke of him as if he wasn’t there.

“Where I am from,” she said, voice clipped. “Beasts are branded. Why is he not?”

“I will not brand him,” Hanzo said, but McCree knew that he was backed into a corner, not being able to offer a true answer. “It is the nature of the deal that I have with him.”

The woman scoffed and McCree, though he couldn’t look down from his distant stare, could imagine that those insidious Elders were looking pleased. They did not like him for “ruining” their precious puppet and would be more than happy to see him knocked down a peg.

He didn’t need to look down to see Reyes looking smug as well, an annoying _I told you so_ look in his eyes.

“There cannot be deals between men and beasts,” she said derisively. “Either have all of your creatures properly branded or I shall remove myself and my family from negotiations.”

At that moment, McCree wasn’t thinking about Hanzo’s difficult position; he was only thinking of his skin. It had already been branded once and that had been an agonizing, humiliating hell. He wouldn’t have a choice, of course—beasts like him had no choice.

It wouldn’t be an issue anywhere else, though. All of the other shifters were Shimada through and through; if not by blood, then by pure, blind loyalty. They would fight over who gets to be branded first, in the hopes of gaining favor from Hanzo.

They all loved Hanzo, all in different ways than McCree did, but unlike McCree, they didn’t love themselves too.

And, he realized with a lurch in his stomach, that he now needed to choose. Who did he love more: Hanzo?

Or himself?

* * *

Hanzo knew that something was wrong as soon as he looked at McCree. He closed the door behind them and sighed. “You’re leaving.”

“You sound like you’ve already decided for me,” McCree said, irrationally annoyed by Hanzo’s statement.

Frustratingly, Hanzo didn’t even turn to look at him. He began undressing like it was any normal day, any normal conversation. “I could see the signs; so could Reyes. It was only just a matter of time that you left.”

McCree clenched his fists. “Can’t we talk about it?”

“You need all the time you can get,” Hanzo said. “No matter how I really feel, the Elders will demand that I send men after you. If you want to escape, you had better make good of the night.”

Hurt, McCree reached out to Hanzo, resting his large hand over Hanzo’s shoulder. “Will you at least look at me?”

Hanzo’s eyes were cold orbs of onyx, his face set in the same hard look that he got when speaking to the Elders. “Leave,” he said. “Quickly, now.”

“Not even a kiss goodbye?” McCree asked, struggling to bury his hurt beneath rage.

“What difference would it make?” Hanzo asked in that cold, clipped voice of his. He turned away. “You’ll be leaving anyway.”

With one last look at Hanzo, McCree turned and left. He didn’t look back.

Reyes smirked like he had always known that McCree would show up. McCree should have been frustrated, but all he could think of was Hanzo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on Twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I don't talk much, but sometimes you get to hear the silly things that my coworkers get upset about. 
> 
> ~DC

**Author's Note:**

> I would normally have posted this weeks ago but...well, long story short my computer doesn't work and Ao3 on mobile doesn't work well with tags. Hopefully the part I need will come in soon, but the computer place has been promising that it will arrive "soon" for the past three weeks. 
> 
> In any event, feel free to come and yell at me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I occasionally post updates and silly reasons why my coworkers are upset with each other.
> 
> ~DC


End file.
